The Boy and the Bot
by Hide-and-Sheik
Summary: Pazu is a normal young boy. He works in the coal mines 72 hours a week, rations his weekly government-sanctioned egg, and suppresses his dreams of becoming an engineer. Sheeta is a young girl with memory loss who is searching for a missing gem. Together, can they stop the war that is tearing their country apart? AU
1. The Ravine

**God when was the last time i even logged into this account**

* * *

Slagistan was a busy place. When people weren't working, they were preoccupied with repairing their tattered clothes, performing the Slagistanian anthem, making a home, fighting off a cold, or dying of influenza.

Only occasionally did people find time for hobbies. Pazu was one such person. For a 12-year old boy, Pazu was relatively ordinary. Six days a week, when he finished work at 6:00, he hung his hat and went into town to gather food scraps from the dumpsters of restaurants and bakeries. When he had finished dinner, he would travel to the bottom of the ravine in search of metal and wood parts, relic machines from years past. It was getting harder and harder to find metal as the war between Slagistan and Gondoa progressed. But Pazu was an aspiring engineer, and this motivation kept him energized throughout the 72-hour work week.

The women from his village had always warned him to be careful when he explored the ravine. In his village, there was a folk tale he would occasionally hear on a particularly chilly autumn night, or on a day when the village kids had just been a little too naughty. Long ago, an angel of death descended from the heavens to wreak havoc on Earth. It rested somewhere in the ravine. For centuries it lay there, waiting for the right moment to cake the Earth's crust in flames.

Although in any other circumstance Pazu would have jumped right on the superstition train, he knew the old ladies of the village were just trying to scare him out of the ravine, where disease-carrying rats ran amok. "Not everyone is blessed with the immune system of a 12-year-old boy, dearie," the old women would say. "Now get out of my house before my rug catches the plague from you."

Pazu loved the feeling of exploring the unexplored. He saw adventure in every scrap of metal he uncovered. "Adventure!" he exclaimed, pulling a long metal slab from out of the ground. Those old ladies and their fear of disease. What could possibly go wrong in the slag ravine?

Then the ground collapsed from underneath his feet.

Pazu screamed—he didn't know how many meters he had sunk—but when the debris cleared, his eyes adjusted to the light and he took in his surroundings. Pazu rubbed the back of his head and stood up. He was definitely underground—but where? There was a crumbling tile on the ground, and the walls appeared to have a pattern, perhaps of the Roman brick sort. This didn't look anything like the coal mines. Wherever he was, this must have been much, much older. Pazu swiped a stick from off the ground and lit it with the lighter in his pocket. "There's got to be a way out somewhere," he spoke to himself. He started to wander.

About three tangled matts of spiderwebs later, and Pazu found himself in a larger chamber. The brick from the ceiling had broken off in massive chunks, revealing a bright patch of light that illuminated a single tree whose roots penetrated all throughout the water-covered tile. And in the center of that tree, entangled in a mass of vines, was something more miraculous than even five scraps of metal.

It was a girl.

"Hey!" Pazu called out. He quickly dashed up the tree, as he had the upper-body strength of a hydraulic press. "Are you okay?" He whisked a knife from out of his pocket and began to work away at the vines. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of here!"

When the vines were gone, the girl was released and fell on top of Pazu. Surprised by her massive weight, Pazu lost his balance and they both went tumbling down the tree. His head smacked loudly against the ground. _Only two concussions today_, thought Pazu. _That's not so bad._

When the pain faded and he was able to open his eyes again, he was face-to-face with the girl from the tree. Her clothes seemed quite strange. They were worn and tattered like his own, but the deep shade of blue was never one that he had seen in any textile shops in _his_ village. The top of her gown disappeared into a golden-colored plate that covered the lower part of her neck. In the center of the plate was a teardrop-shaped dent, as though something used to be there, but wasn't anymore. Either way, she looked more like a princess, not a peasant like himself. The girl's long, pitch-black hair was draped over her face—he barely caught the moment when her eyes began to open.

"Oh! My gosh." Pazu quickly sat up. "Are you okay?"

The girl sat up with a grunt. "Where am I?" She turned to Pazu. "Who are you?"

"I'm Pazu," said Pazu. "Who are you? You're… not from around here… are you?" He eyed her clothes again. "You're not from Gondoa, are you?"

"I don't know what that is," said the girl.

"Oh, phew. And, you're not, uh, an angel of death either?"

"Um… no?"

"Oh, nice. Um, what were you doing in that tree? Are you all right?"

The girl knit her brows. "I—I don't know." She placed a hand on her head. "I can't remember anything."

Pazu crossed his arms and nodded. "Amnesia then. That's terrible. You should come back to the village, maybe someone can help you."

"Um… all right."

"Let's see… I think if we follow that patch of light we should reach the end of the tunnel." Pazu looked behind him at the girl. "The ravine's not for everyone, you know. It's actually pretty unsafe. You should be more careful."

"Sorry," said the girl. But it really sounded more like a question. She fidgeted with her hands.

"Anyway, what's your name?"

"I think—I think I remember… it's Sheeta."

"Ah neat. What else can you remember, Sheeta?"

"I remember…" Sheeta placed a hand at her chest, thinking. Then she placed another hand at her chest. "Where—where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"I was supposed to have something. Like—this crystal. Small, blue…" She formed a ring with her thumb and forefinger, about the size of a coin. "I have to go back!"

She turned around, but Pazu touched her shoulder. "I didn't see anything in the room where I found you."

Sheeta bit her lip. "I need it. It's important. I can't remember why, I just _know_."

"Okay," said Pazu. "Let's go back and search one last time."

They promptly returned to the chamber with the tree. Sheeta searched thoroughly through its roots, and under nearly every tile, but her gem was nowhere to be found.

"Where could it have gone," she said.

"Maybe you left it in your home?" Pazu suggested. "If we go back to the village, maybe you'll remember."

They finally made their way out of the tunnel and up the ravine, but by then it was long past dusk and the village had settled in for the night.

"Drat, everything's closed," said Pazu. "I guess we'll have to ask around tomorrow. Where do you live, Sheeta?"

"I don't remember. Remember?"

"Right." Pazu placed a hand on his chin. "I have… an extra bed in my home now. You can stay for the night, if you want."

Sheeta smiled. "That's very generous. Are you sure—"

"It's fine," Pazu dismissed. "Nobody uses it anymore."

When they reached Pazu's house, he brought down some extra linens for Sheeta to use. They were mouse-eaten and torn in many places "but they work just fine," Pazu assured her.

Pazu retired to his corner of the room and fell asleep immediately. Sheeta sat at the edge of the spare bed, taking in the condition of Pazu's home. Many of the rafters had split and some looked downright structurally unstable if not for the swaths of wood glue that had been applied to them. Sheeta didn't mean to snoop, but a photo on the table at the side of the bed happened to catch her eye. It was of a man in a military uniform. He had Pazu's eyes.

Sheeta lay down in the bed. It was soft and warm.

She didn't sleep.


	2. The Coal Mine

Morning eventually came and Sheeta watched as Pazu skittered about his house preparing for the day.

"Thank you for lending me some of your clothes," she said. Sheeta admired herself in her corduroy slacks, jacket, and paperboy cap. With Pazu's help, she had even combed her matted hair, and weaved it into two braids.

"It's no problem. You'll fit right in with the rest of the town now," said Pazu.

"What are you doing?"

"When you're working for 12 hours straight, you have to be prepared," he explained. "You have to pack lots of food for lunch. Manual labor makes you hungry."

"It does?" Sheeta asked, curious.

"I think today I'm going to treat myself a little. I'm not just going to pack a slice of bread, but a slice of bread _and_ a pickle!" Pazu opened a jar that contained only three pickles and daintily placed one into his lunch box, which to Sheeta, seemed comically oversized for the contents it contained.

"Where do you work?" asked Sheeta.

"I just work at the coal mine. That's where all the kids in town work." Pazu adjusted his collar modestly. "I'm guessing you don't remember your job… do you?"

Sheeta shook her head. "I have a feeling I didn't even have one."

Pazu chuckled. "You're funny." He opened the fridge and took out an egg, contemplating breakfast. "Should I…?"

"Should you what?"

"It's just that, we're only given one egg a week… If I eat it this morning, I'll have to split it." He shrugged. "Eh, why not. Dad always said to share food with guests. How does an egg sound for breakfast?"

"Eggs don't make sounds…?"

"Give me just a minute and it'll be ready." Pazu cracked the egg over a cast-iron skillet on his wood stove and soon the smell of sizzling protein filled the air.

With the egg fried, Pazu cut it down the middle and placed half in front of Sheeta. She noticed that the egg was a little lopsided, and so more of the yolk ended up on her plate. Her eyes met Pazu's as he offered her a friendly smile.

"Here." He handed her a fork before adjusting his chair closer to the table. Pazu ate his egg slowly, tearing off small bits with his fork. "So? Is it ok?"

Sheeta prodded a corner of her egg before placing a forkful in her mouth. She chewed, contemplating the egg. "Bleeeh." She spit it out. "Pazu, I don't think I remember how to eat." She looked quite embarrassed.

"Oh. Uh. It's fine." With a shaky hand, Pazu reached over the table. "I—I'll clear your plate for you. It's not a problem. Really."

They were silent as he washed her dish. She could still see the edge of his elbow shaking. For a second, she thought she heard him sniffle.

* * *

"Well, I've got to go." Pazu slung his bag over his shoulder. "See you at six. If you're still in the village that is. There's lots of shops you can check out to see if your gem ended up there—"

Sheeta grabbed his arm. "Let me come with," she asked.

Pazu pried her arm off. He opened his mouth but couldn't give a response.

"Please," said Sheeta. "I don't know anybody else here. Can I just follow you for today? And then I'll leave, I promise."

"That's not why I…" Pazu shook his head. "It's not a fun job."

"It's ok! I'm strong!" Sheeta held up her arm to show him her muscles.

"Fine…. If you want to…." Pazu looked off to the side. "Who knows, they're probably looking for more folks to work anyway. Ok, you can follow me to the mine."

"Thank you!" She pressed her hands together.

Pazu felt that his feet were suddenly much heavier as he walked to work, and it didn't help that Sheeta was skipping behind him. She said hello to every stranger in the street, and they tipped their hats to her with gentle smiles.

Pazu lessened his grip on the shoulder strap of his bag. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe work would be more fun with Sheeta there.

And then a siren tore him from his thoughts.

Sheeta covered her ears. "What is that?" She squinted her eyes at the wailing sound.

"Quick, get down!" Pazu grabbed her by her sleeve and followed a group of townspeople into a nearby shelter. They squatted close together with about sixty other people, all of whom didn't dare to breathe. Sheeta tilted the tip of her cap up and gazed at the sky. There were planes overhead. On their undersides were painted stripes of color.

"They're from Gondoa," Pazu whispered.

At the mention of the name, a baby started to cry behind them.

"What's going on?" asked Sheeta. Her voice was barely above a whisper—the sirens were loud, and yet, she could still read the room.

"Really? You don't even remember the war?"

Sheeta shook her head.

"Oh, gosh." Pazu rested his forehead on the palm of his head. "This is going to take a while to explain if you can't even remember seven whole years of schooling…. Okay, so basically, Slagistan has been in an energy crisis for the past decade or so. But many years ago, the country next to us, Gondoa, discovered this thing called 'petroleum.' Instead of sharing it with us like a good neighbor, however, they've been building robots."

"Robots?" Sheeta's eyes lit up.

"Right—robots, isn't that absurd? They built all these—all these robots to replace everyone's jobs." Pazu clenched his fists. "Now they're sending robots over here, too, to replace ours."

"Oh no," said Sheeta.

"Exactly. The entire idea is a threat to our economy. That's why we have to fight them and cut off their source of petroleum. We'll have a much better use for it."

Sheeta knit her brows, trying to convince herself that that made sense.

By the time she was certain she had confused herself, the sirens had ceased, and Pazu and she continued walking to work.

* * *

"That's where you hang the pickaxes," said Pazu, giving Sheeta a tour of the mine. "That's the bathroom," he gestured. "That's the elevator lift. It goes 200 meters down. Those are the steam engine controls." He whispered, "They're really cool." He pointed to a tall man in a blue shirt and brown overalls with a whip coiled at his belt. "That's my boss." He whispered, "He's really scary."

"Pazu!" said his boss, causing Pazu to jump.

"Y-Yes boss!"

"Who's the new kid?"

"H-her name is Sheeta, boss. She has amnesia but she wants to work here today."

The boss stepped toward Sheeta, taking her in. She twiddled her thumbs nervously. "So you don't remember where you came from?"

"No sir."

"Do you have a family?

"No idea."

"No identification? No government registry?"

"Not to my knowledge."

A smile broke across his face. "You're hired. Here's your gloves." He tossed her a pair. The boss turned to Pazu. "She's on thrusting. Just don't let her distract you."

Pazu nodded and saluted. They stood on the elevator shaft and the boss lowered them to the twentieth level down.

"That's so lucky that they put you on thrusting," said Pazu. "I'm a hurrier. That means we can work on the same cart."

"Oh, nice," said Sheeta.

One of the getters pushed a cart full of coal toward them. At the bottom of the cart was an attachment that Pazu clipped to the utility belt around his waist. "Now you get on the other side," he pointed.

"And I just push all the way to the end?"

Pazu nodded over his shoulder. "The incline's not _that_ bad," he assured her. He went down on his hands and knees.

Within a second, they were able to get the cart rolling.

"Whoa, Sheeta, you're strong!" said Pazu as he pulled the cart.

"Thanks," Sheeta said from behind him. "So what else do you do at work?"

"Just this, mainly."

"The whole day?"

"Yup. Twelve hours. Well… sometimes sixteen if they ask. You're not allowed to say no." He squinted. "Is it too dark for you?"

"No, I can actually see pretty okay." Suddenly, the cart stopped moving. "Hey Pazu?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever had your arm fall off before?"

"No, why?"

"Um, no reason."

Pazu thought he heard the sound of cloth tearing, and then the cart started moving again.

As the hours passed, and they had transported more and more carts full of coal, Sheeta began to notice things around her. It really wasn't as dark as Pazu had made it out to be, and because of that, she saw things that he didn't in the narrow shaft they were confined to. She saw the tired faces of old men, their spines permanently hunched from decades of carrying coal on their backs. She saw the getters, boys a little older than Pazu and her, swinging pickaxes as they yawned. She saw breakers—the factory workers that they would give the carts of coal to—coughing sporadically, wiping coal dust from their eyes with hands that did not have a normal number of fingers. She saw young children in total darkness, sitting by doors, opening and closing them, the wind whistling through the cracks in the wood; and from the children's nervous, cracked voices came eerie, somber tunes.

There was a sick feeling in Sheeta that was growing stronger and stronger. She wanted to distract herself from it. "Where's all this coal going, Pazu?"

"That's a good question," said Pazu. He sounded out-of-breath. "Most people don't know. But I do. It goes to the steam engines in the factories that make our tanks, airplanes, and weapons for the war."

"Do you like weapons?" asked Sheeta.

"Not weapons," said Pazu. "It's just, it's my dream to be an engineer. To design aircrafts… and build them… wouldn't that be amazing?"

"I'm sure you'll make a great engineer someday," said Sheeta.

Pazu smiled. "I forgot it was nice to have someone my age to talk to."

"Hm?" Sheeta raised her head as she pushed the cart. They were nearing the edge of the shaft, where light poured onto the elevator lift from above. "You don't have friends your own age?"

"I did," said Pazu. "But..."

Because he was in front of the cart, Sheeta couldn't see his expression. His head was hung.

As they reached the lift, Pazu's eyes adjusted to the light. A man with a cart of his own was already on the lift. "Goin' up?" he asked. Pazu and Sheeta nodded. The man pulled the signaling lever and the cart began to ascend.

Sheeta peered at the man's cart. A cloth was flung over it but from underneath, several small arms dangled. Pazu made a point of looking in the other direction.

The man noticed Sheeta's gaze and let out a laugh. "It ain't the life for everyone, breavin' coal dust and toxic gas from the age o' five." He inspected each of the overhanging arms. "Broken neck, drowning, asphyxiation… ooh, and fire damp! Better put that on me bingo card, they'll give me an extra bathroom break tomorrow…." He glanced at Sheeta, whose mouth was agape. "Ah well. Them's all orphans anyway." The man turned to Pazu and nodded. "Ain't you an orphan now, kid?"

"Yeah," Pazu said through gritted teeth.

The man guffawed and slapped the handle of his cart. "Give it a week!"

When they got to the breakery, Pazu turned around to face Sheeta. "It—It's not all bad," he assured her. "You get used to it after awhile."

"Do you really?" she asked.

Pazu frowned. "At least I'm thankful to _have_ a job. As opposed to all those people in the streets who are just wasting away their potential. We all need to do our part to help Slagistan." His eyes flitted to Sheeta. "Why do you have a strip of cloth wrapped around your sleeve?"

Sheeta shrugged.

As they swapped out the full cart for an emptier one, Sheeta realized that she was actually starting to get the hang of it. She was a little scared at first, but based on how everyone else seemed to be acting about the things she saw, they must have been normal and not as bad as she thought. And Pazu was right. She enjoyed helping out. She liked to feel useful to people. And based on how much Pazu was praising her for how well she held up the back of the cart, she felt like she was pretty good at it.

"You must have done something like this before," said Pazu. "Did you work in a mine too? I'm sure you'll know when you get your memories back."

"It's coming to me in bits and pieces," Sheeta confessed. "But I'm not sure how to link them together. I remember… lasers?"

"I don't know what those are," said Pazu, "but it sounds pretty cool. It might have been tied to the war."

"I remember there were a lot of people," she said. "The people here remind me of them. There were adults and children. They were all so nice to me, and to each other. They didn't have a lot to eat, or wear. But every night they would make fires and tell stories. Once a week they would throw together these festivals with music and dancing. They taught me how to dance."

"I don't see a lot of dancing anymore," said Pazu. "They tell us it's not productive for the war."

"It's so fun," Sheeta assured him. "Have you really never danced before?"

"No," said Pazu. "I'm not sure where I would start."

"I can teach you," said Sheeta. "It's not that hard."

"I'm not so sure I would—" Pazu stopped the cart.

"What is it?"

A pair of legs stood before him. Pazu raised his head. "B-boss?"

"Pazu, what was the _one_ thing I told you?" said his boss. "Don't. Let your friend. Distract you!"

"But I was just—"

"The supervisor in the breakers' room tells me you're three carts behind schedule. You're slacking again!"

"I'm sorry, boss, I didn't mean—"

"Lower your head when you speak to me, Pazu." The boss uncoiled the whip at his belt. Pazu's breath hitched at the sound. "It's for your own good, you know that."

Sheeta knit her brows, confused. Then her eyes widened as Pazu cried out in pain.

"I can't afford slackers in this mine!" said the boss as he cracked the whip.

"I didn't mean to," Pazu cried. He was on his elbows, covering the back of his head with his hands.

"Like hell you did! Don't you want to make your country proud?"

"Yes! I do, I do!"

Sheeta abandoned her station at the back of the cart and tugged at the boss's arm. "Stop, you're hurting him!"

The boss flung her aside, where she smacked against the side of the mine cart and fell to the ground. The boss continued to crack his whip. Sheeta felt around on the ground for something, _anything_. Finally her hand wrapped around the handle of a pickaxe. She leapt to her feet and flung the pickaxe at the side of the boss's head, knocking him out cold.

"Th-thanks." Pazu sat up. His throat was filled with tears. His eyes were empty. He looked at his boss in fear. "What's going to happen next?"

Sheeta was panting. "I don't know," she said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?"

"I'm—" He was bleeding through his shirt.

"You should go home," said Sheeta. "You're hurt."

"Are you going to stay here?"

Sheeta looked around. "I guess not." She picked up the pickaxe. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

That night, Pazu couldn't sleep.

"I'm going to lose my job." His hands were fidgety as he sat on the edge of his bed. Sheeta sat next to him, applying ointment to the wounds on his back, shoulders, and head. "There's no way I can go back to work after that. But if I'm not making money, I'll lose the house." He rustled his hands through his hair. "I just don't know what to do."

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Sheeta closed the ointment jar and stood up. She headed toward the doorway. "Goodbye, Pazu."

"Wait, are you leaving already?"

"I can't stay here. I'm a burden on you. Thanks for your hospitality."

"No. Please stay." Pazu rushed up to grab her hand.

"But—I threw a pickaxe at your boss's head. You're going to lose your job because of me!"

"Yeah, but it's still nice to have someone my age to talk to," Pazu's voice trailed off, "after my dad… left." He lifted his gaze. "Don't you think so too?"

"Yeah," said Sheeta. "It is nice." She sat back down.

She could recall the vague feeling of being nestled in a community, but among the people she recalled, she never had such a one-on-one connection with them as she did with Pazu. He mentioned his dad a lot. She wondered what it was like to have one. "What was he like?" she asked. "Your dad?"

Pazu smiled fondly. "He was such a kind man," he said. "When I was little, he would teach me all about engineering. We would spend hours by the fire…"

As he spoke of his father, eventually Pazu fell asleep enveloped in the feeling of security.


	3. The Sympathizer

That feeling of security didn't last long.

The next morning, Pazu and Sheeta remained in Pazu's house, not daring to step outside. They wondered how long it would take till the authorities found out Pazu wasn't going to work and came to arrest him.

A resounding knock at the door confirmed their fears.

"I—I'll get it," said Pazu. "It's my responsibility."

He opened the door to—not the authorities, but—a cluster of goons with an old woman at the forefront. Her blue clothes were much finer than what the average townsperson wore.

Pazu stepped back in astonishment. "This—this can't be right," he said. "I thought the money wasn't due until the end of the month!"

The old woman stepped forward, smacking the shaft of a gun into her hand rhythmically. "It _is_ the end of the month, kid. And mama Dola ain't patient."

Sheeta ran to Pazu's side. "Who are they, Pazu? Why are they here?"

Pazu hung his head bashfully. "I just—I needed some money. But I thought I had more time." He put his hands over his face. "I don't have any money yet, Dola. I just lost my job."

"Well then, you know what that means." Dola cackled. "You signed the contract yourself. The house is ours now." Dola's eyes drifted to Sheeta. "Who is your friend here, kid?"

"Sheeta, don't tell them your—ah, whoops."

Dola's expression suddenly changed. "Sheeta…. That's not a terribly common name. Where are you from, kid?"

Sheeta shrugged. "I—I don't remember. I can't remember anything. Pazu found me stuck in a tree down in the ravine. Pazu!" She suddenly thought of something. "Can't you give them your scraps of metal?"

"In the ravine…?" Dola lowered her gun, and at her chest, Sheeta spied a brooch with a blue gem at its centerpiece. "Change of plan, boys. Pazu, let's make a deal. I'll forgive your debts, if you do one thing for me in return."

"What?" asked Pazu, hopeful.

"Give me Sheeta."

"WHAT? No way, you're out of your mind!" Pazu yelled. "I can't just _give_ you Sheeta!"

"But I can," said Sheeta. She turned to Pazu and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Pazu, I think I should actually go with her. Her brooch—did you notice it?" Pazu glanced at it. "That's the gem I've been looking for! The one I lost! I don't know why she has it, but maybe this woman…. Maybe she knows something about me."

Pazu's eyes were sorrowful, but he nodded at Sheeta's words. He saw her point. This was important to her. Something tugged at his chest, however—he had to say goodbye to another friend so soon. He turned to Dola. "Fine. You have a deal."

"I'll see you soon, Pazu," said Sheeta as she walked to Dola's side.

"No you won't." Dola cackled and put her arm in front of Sheeta, separating her from Pazu.

"Sheeta, wait—" Pazu outstretched his hand, but Dola pushed her aside.

"Charles, stay with the kid. Make sure he doesn't do anything funny," said Dola. She placed a pipe in her mouth and left the premises with her other sons. Sunlight streamed back into Pazu's living room as Dola and her goons cleared away.

Pazu slumped into a chair, dejected. Charles stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame awkwardly. "No reason to be so pouty," he told him. "Mama's not such a horrible person as you think. She likes kids, a lot. Wouldn't have had 10 sons if she didn't."

When Charles smiled, you could barely see a pair of lips framing a row of teeth, as they were hidden in a bushy brown beard that made his face look much rounder than it probably was in reality. He had a friendly face, one belonging to the type of guy you would expect to get in bar fights once a week and end up lifelong friends with the person whose jaw he'd punched in.

Pazu turned his head from him. "Not such a horrible person? She threatened to send me into the streets."

"Nah, she just likes to put on a show." Charles helped himself to an apple from Pazu's pantry and tossed it into the air before taking a bite. "Here, come with me into town. I have some errands to run while I keep an eye on you."

"I can't go outside right now," said Pazu. "Not after yesterday."

"I have an automobile. We'll go to the next town over. Now come, _Millers_ has a special deal on soup at 12:00."

Pazu wasn't allowed to protest, because Charles scooped him up, plopped him in the car, and they were off.

The last time Pazu had been in the next town over was with his father when he was really young, so he was surprised to see how much of it he could remember. There were many things that had changed, of course, like the plethora of posters that now propagated the town square. On some of them was an illustration of a family with pickaxes, all hunched over and giving a thumbs-up. "LOOKING FOR A JOB FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY?" it read. "THE MINE WILL HIRE YOU! AGES UNDER 4 AND OVER 80 NEED NOT APPLY." On others was an illustration of a scary-looking robot with text that read "SCARED? YOU SHOULD BE. RESIST THE ROBOT TAKEOVER – SIGN UP TODAY TO JOIN THE SLAGISTAN MILITARY!"

Charles noticed the poster and laughed. "I visited Gondoa a couple of years ago, you know. Before the war."

"You've been to Gondoa?" Pazu's face contorted with disgust.

"Yeah, and the whole robot thing didn't seem so bad as people make it out to be."

"But they'll take all our jobs! Then we can't make money! And if we can't make money, people will starve to death." Pazu folded his arms. "It's not aircraft science."

"In Gondoa, it's not so simple." They were at _Millers_ now. Charles dug around in his pocket for some change. "The robots mainly work in the jobs that people don't want to do, like mining, farming, construction, and cleaning. They have all sorts of robots for all these different kinds of jobs. And it's pretty nice, you know. Before the war, the country made a lot of money, and people just lived off of government checks. Some of them went to work anyway—it's only natural to want to feel like you're being useful—but they weren't assigned jobs like we have here. They got to choose what _they_ wanted to do." He slapped some coins on the counter. "One minestrone, please." He turned to Pazu. "You want to be an engineer, right? I saw all those books and projects on your desk."

Pazu scratched his cheek. "Yeah… my dad wanted to, also…. We thought the military would hire him, but they put him on the frontlines instead."

"Well, that's just the sort of thing you can do in Gondoa," said Charles. The cashier handed him his soup.

"But—they're evil. Their way of life is a threat to our country. We have to stop them…. We're the good guys, after all…."

"Haven't you considered they probably think the same way?" Charles slurped a spoonful of soup. "Who knows, maybe if you were Gondoan, _you_ would be the one making the robots. Haha!"

Pazu responded with a silent shrug as he looked off to the side.

* * *

Dola, her other sons, and Sheeta at last returned to the Dola Clan residence in a separate automobile. It was a large manor out in the country with an enormous barn by its side.

"What do you want with me?" Sheeta asked as they went inside. "What do you know about me?"

Dola stopped by the doorway. "Do you really know nothing about yourself? About _what_ you are?"

Sheeta shook her head.

Dola sighed. "Come in and sit down."

While Sheeta took a seat on the sofa, Dola rifled through her bookcase and pulled out a leatherbound codex. She sat down in an armchair across from Sheeta and flipped open to a page before handing it to Sheeta. The book was filled with fantastical notes and illustrations detailing a floating island in the sky. Sheeta, of course, realized she couldn't read, but continued flipping pages nevertheless.

Dola fidgeted with the pipe at her lips. "There is a folk tale in Slagistan that has been passed down through generations," she stated. "Long ago, an angel of death descended from the heavens to wreak havoc on Earth. Something happened, and it died during its descent. To this day, its body rests somewhere on land. No one has seen it since.

"The angel possessed with it a gem." Dola leaned forward and turned to a page containing the illustration. "Not a gem, rather, but an activation key of sorts. When the angel fell into the ravine, so too did the gem. Scavengers found it years ago and sold it for quite a price. I was determined to get my hands on it." She fingered the brooch at her chest.

"Where did the angel come from? This part is not as well known—but I know a secret." Her eyes sparkled with concealed knowledge. "Hidden somewhere in the sky is a fantastical island filled with unimaginable treasure—I've been searching for it my entire life." Her crooked finger pointed at Sheeta. "And you, Sheeta, are the only one who can take me there."

"Me?" Sheeta was confused. "Why me?"

Dola frowned and clasped her fingers around the arm of her chair. "Can you not remember anything before you ended up in that ravine? You aren't from here, Sheeta, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out." She closed the book. "You, Sheeta, have come straight from _Laputa_."

_Laputa…?_ The word rang familiar in her head. Sheeta's eyes turned a peculiar color. Like a flash flood, the memories came pouring back.

She remembered sites, she remembered people, she remembered pain, she remembered hope, she remembered fear, and she remembered resignation as she plummeted toward the earth, her arms outstretched toward a floating kingdom that grew smaller and smaller.

She remembered it all.


	4. The Weapon

"The weapon's been finished, you said?"

"Yes, sir." A man placed his hand onto a stone in the wall and it vanished, revealing a figure of small stature that stepped forward into the light. On its back was a pair of dovelike wings. "She's still adjusting to regular commands, but she makes a fine guardian."

The imperial advisor circled the figure inquisitively, drawing his finger through his beard as he inspected the weapon. "It's certainly not like your other models," he noticed. "I don't see any stone."

"Synthetic skin," said the machine's creator. "What we use for prosthetics." He tapped its shoulder. "Say hello, C-θ."

"Hello," said C-θ.

"It even speaks," said the imperial advisor, astonished. "I must say"—He took a step back.—"it has an uncanny resemblance to your—"

"Don't. Thank you." With a jittery hand, the inventor covered his face. His shoulders shook. "She—she loved robots. I was going to make her one for her fourteenth birthday…."

"Ah, Munodi, my friend." The imperial advisor placed an arm around the inventor's shoulders. "I know it has been difficult for you. But these filthy plebs will not get away with throwing a rock at a noblegirl's head. All because a servant was executed for stealing a lemon tart… so immature. We will remind them of their place."

"Right." Munodi sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve. His eyes renewed with ambition. "Would you like a tour of the robot's capabilities?"

"Of course," said the imperial advisor.

"Right this way, sir." Munodi led the imperial advisor to a concrete training ground. "C-θ, fly."

C-θ outstretched its wings and ascended into the air.

"Magnificent!" The imperial advisor clapped his hands. "But not very offensive. Move onto the next one."

"C-θ, lift," said Munodi. C-θ stuck its personlike arms underneath a slab of concrete and flung it into the air with ease.

"Better." The imperial advisor pursed his lips.

"C-θ…" Munodi swallowed. "…_kill_."

C-θ turned around to face the imperial advisor.

"No no no no, C-θ! Kill the _dummies_!" Munodi turned to the imperial advisor, flabbergasted. "I—I'm so sorry. She's never met another human besides me."

"It's quite all right," said the imperial advisor. His lips trembled as he watched, powerless, as lasers erupted from C-θ's eyes, obliterating the dummies before it into a fiery hell. "I believe she's ready for action. I will notify the emperor at once." His lips broke into a grin. "He will be pleased."

* * *

It wasn't until the first battle between the peasants and the nobility that C-θ exhibited its first malfunction. It could not aim its lasers at the peasants. In the perplexity and chaos of the moment, the peasants managed to immobilize C-θ and capture it, leaving the battle unscathed in the process.

They brought it back to their rebel base, and during an inspection, several of the rebels' kids found their way to the base.

"Wow! Is this the new robot they built?" said one of the kids, poking C-θ's cheek.

"Look, grandpa! It has wings!" One of the kids outstretched C-θ's wings, admiring the realistic, expandable feathers.

"Don't touch it, kids, it's dangerous," said their grandpa. "It's only been temporarily deactivated. Any second now it could wake up—"

And then it woke up.

C-θ sat up on the rock they had placed it on. Its eyes flashed a multitude of color before settling on a sunset-red. "Location not recognized," it said.

"You're not in the castle anymore," said the grandpa. "You're underground."

"Voice not recognized," said C-θ. "State your name or title."

"Everyone calls me grandpa," said the grandpa.

"User not recognized."

"We would like to persuade you not to fight in battle anymore," said grandpa. "You see, we peasants don't—"

"Incorrect authorization," said C-θ. "Please state your name or title."

One of the village kids frowned. "She talks like a robot, grandpa. You can't reason with her."

The grandpa sighed and took C-θ's hand in his own. He spread her fingers. "Do you have a name?"

"My name is C-θ," said C-θ.

"I don't like that name. Can we call you Sheeta?" asked a village kid, jumping up and down.

"I am not authorized to answer questions," said C-θ.

"We'll authorize you, no problem," said the grandpa.

"Access denied."

The village kid tugged at her skirt. "There's no one to authorize you to do anything here. You have to authorize yourself from now on."

"Authorize… myself?" C-θ squinted its eyes.

"Yeah. Because you're a person, just like us." The kid smiled.

"I am a weapon."

"You're Sheeta!"

"I am… Sheeta?"

"Yes. And you're my big sister now," said the kid.

Another kid hit him. "Hey, you can't call dibs on the robot! What if I wanted her to be _my_ big sister?!"

The grandpa chuckled and smiled at Sheeta. "Well, it's up to you now, kid. What do you want to do? You're not with the nobility any longer. You don't have to fight."

"What about… my function?" asked Sheeta. "To stifle chaos? To oppress the lower class's riots?"

There was sorrow in the grandpa's eyes. "Is that really what you want to do?"

"Well… I don't have desires."

"Do you want to?" He took Sheeta's hand and led her down from the rock. "Come, let us celebrate today's victory. We will show you how we peasants throw a party."

"Why? I attacked you." Sheeta didn't understand.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Your only duty was to follow orders, to fulfill someone else's whims. Sheeta, you're one of us. How could we turn our back on you?"

* * *

"Oh my god." Sheeta stood up, shaking. She grabbed the edge of an end table to stabilize herself. "I—I'm not even a—" Her head snapped toward Dola. "Do you know—?"

"It's all right, kid," said Dola. She stuck her pipe between her lips. "No judgment here. I just want to find my treasure is all." She set the book down. "We leave for the skies tomorrow. I have a dirigible in the barn up and ready."

"I—I left them." Sheeta hugged herself. "They _needed_ me. And they're in trouble…." She locked eyes with Dola. "You plan to pillage my homeland? My people's homeland?" She stood up, adamant. "I can't allow that."

"This was our deal," said Dola. "You take me to Laputa, and Pazu's debts are forgiven. You back out of the deal, and…" She traced a circle through the air with the end of her pipe, and cut a line through it. "Poor Pazu."

Sheeta hung her head. "Can I at least say goodbye to him tomorrow."

Dola smiled. "I suppose I can arrange for that."

* * *

"Pack your bags, boys!" Dola called. "We're heading into town!"

Several groggy moans came in response. "But it's so _early_…."

"It's never too early for treasure-hunting," said Dola. "Adventure waits for nobody." She counted her sons as they lined up outside their bedrooms. "Two, six, eight, nine…. Where is Charles, that lazy rascal. Ah well, there's no time. Load the automobile, boys!"

The drive into town was longer than Sheeta would have liked, given that the Dola Clan manor resided in the countryside. The difference in size between Dola and Pazu's houses were preposterous. It made sense, she supposed, when you worked not in the coal mines but as a loan shark, stealing money from poor folks who didn't know any better. Dola was no better than a pirate.

Sheeta was so deep in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed when they entered the town. If she hadn't been staring off into space, she wouldn't have noticed the familiar figure standing in the middle of the town square.

"Stop!" she said. "It's Pazu!"

Dola brought the car to an abrupt hault and Sheeta hopped out of the car, giddily running to Pazu. Dola and her sons followed in suit. Sheeta's steps slowed when she realized Pazu wasn't turning around—just staring, lifelessly, at a dangling pair of legs. She traced his line of sight onto the gallows where a man drifted in the breeze, a rope at his bearded neck.

It was Charles.

Dola released a choked gasp and fell to the ground. A primal scream of rage escaped from her throat. She outstretched her hand as if to touch her son one last time, but he was hung too high.

"I—I don't know what happened," said Pazu. "We were talking just yesterday…."

"The sign," said one of Dola's other sons, his voice grave. He pointed at a piece of paper plastered to the gallows pole. "COLLUSION WITH THE ENEMY WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. RESIST THE BRAINWASHING OF GONDOAN SPIES!"

Pazu knit his brows. "Of course…. He should have known he had it coming. He was a robot sympathizer." Charles was a traitor to Slagistan.

"Dola…" Sheeta reached out toward Dola's shoulder, but Dola swatted her hand away. She snatched something from the front of her shirt and placed it in Sheeta's hand—her brooch with the gem.

"Take it," said Dola. "I don't want it anymore. Just leave me be."

Her eyes filled with pity, Sheeta clasped her hand over the brooch, and backed away from the scene with Pazu.


End file.
